


About Your Future Brother...

by Autumn_Llleaves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Bit of Dark Comedy, Double Drabble, F/M, Family Reunions, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-25 08:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12527684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Llleaves/pseuds/Autumn_Llleaves
Summary: Meeting again in Braavos, both Stark sisters are betrothed. Neither is sure the other would approve of her choice…





	About Your Future Brother...

“And let me tell you something… I am to be wed!”

“ _Arya_?!”

“What? I’m seven-and-ten.”

“Er… nothing. I just didn’t think you would ever marry anyone. I certainly never thought you’d be so glad about it!”

Sansa, Princess in the North, got a letter from her long-lost sister only two months ago, and sailed to Braavos without delay. Bran was beyond the Wall and Rickon was visiting Dorne – she sent ravens to both, but didn’t want to wait.

Arya is grown and looks more womanly… _comparatively_. She dresses like a man and wields a sword, although in Braavos the sight is far less shocking than at home.

But now the sisters put aside their differences, and their childhood fights are forgotten. For an hour, they’ve been sitting in a tavern and have barely said a coherent word – they were too overwhelmed with happiness.

Now they began to talk – slowly, almost cautiously. Nine years of separation still lie between them.

“I am betrothed too, Arya,” Sansa adds.

“Oh! Well, hardly a surprise with _you_ , sweet sister. Who is it? Do I know him? Tell me!”

“You first.”

“No, you first.”

They _are_ cautious. Sansa fidgets nervously as she remembers some unpleasant things from her bridegroom’s past. Arya looks calm, but mentally she’s imagining her sister hearing of who her intended is…

“He is a wonderful man. He has saved my life several times.”

Any other girl would have squealed at the romance, but Arya says, half-serious:

“I hope you’re not marrying him merely because you’re grateful.”

“No, Arya, be sure of that!” Sansa’s eyes shine with such tenderness that her sister believes her.

“Is he from the North?”

“No-o.”

Arya grunts in distaste:

“Oh, one of these southern lords like that Loras Tyrell you swooned over!”

Sansa fights to suppress a laugh. She used to be enamored with Ser Loras. Very long ago. Extremely long ago.

“I hope it’s not actually Loras?”

“Loras is a Kingsguard and he’s not interested anyway,” Sansa smiles.

“Now, Sansa! Would you at least tell me the man’s name? He’s my future good-brother, I’ve got to know something of him!"

"Er. You know his name – two more mugs of mead, please," Sansa says loudly to the serving-girl, who curtseys and soon brings them. Both sisters take a sip, and Arya grins:

"Well?"

 _All right, it can't be any worse that with my bannermen,_ Sansa reasons and answers:

"It's Sandor."

For a moment, Arya is confused:

"Who is..." revelation strikes, " _What?!_ The younger Clegane? The one they call the Hound?! Have you gone  _mad_ , sweet sister? He kidnapped and nearly killed me, he killed Mycah, and he said – he said it straight to my face – he wanted to rape you!"

"He has changed, Arya! Believe me!"

"Changed? The Hound?"

" _Sandor._ "

Her sister cringes:

"What would the  _lords_ say?"

"Arya, do  _you_ care about the lords?"

"I don't, but you do. At least, the Sansa I knew used to."

"The lords from the North had a hard time accepting my choice, until Sandor smashed Roose Bolton's reserve army. Then they began to like him. As for Tyrion, he has given me an annulment, and long ago at that, and King Aegon the Young Griff has enough on his hands to worry about my marriage."

"Sansa... Please, we've just met after several years, and the first thing I learn is that you're betrothed to a... to a murderer, a  _monster._ "

" _Monster_ ," Sansa spits. "This  _monster_ saved me, in King's Landing during the riots and then in the Vale when he took me from Baelish and then in the North when he got rid of the Boltons. He is more noble than you can imagine."

"The Hound – and noble? Then I'm Good Queen Alysanne."

"Arya, I understand your... qualms. But, please, just... don't try to run him through the moment you meet him. For my sake at least."

"I don't want to meet him!"

"You just said you want to know your future good-brother. Speaking of which..." Sansa brightens, happy to change the subject. "I haven't heard about  _your_ betrothed yet. Do tell me of him. I wonder who has won your heart and lived to tell the tale! Who is he?"

"Oh," Arya smiles, "Jaqen H'ghar. He is a master assassin – used to be one of the Faceless Men before we both quit, in fact. We first met when he was on his way from the black cells to the Wall, in a cage with a couple of maniacs... er, Sansa?"

Sansa's mug drops from her fingers and rolls on the floor as the redhead's eyes grow wide as saucers.

* * *

"Here's to our lovely brides!" Sandor raised his goblet full of Volantene red, and Jaqen H'ghar – he hadJaqen's face on today – saluted him in turn:

"To the dignified ladies Sansa and Arya Stark!"

They were standing outside the tavern, drinking their fifth goblet and enjoying themselves immensely.

"A man's friend's lady looks quite regal, a man must say."

"I think she'll like you. The little bird has always had a soft spot for flowery compliments."

"There is no need for a friend to be jealous. A man's lady is better."

"Well,  _she_ doesn't like me and will hardly like me more. Last time we parted, she left me for dead. And will you please stop these 'a man's of yours? It's making me sick."

Jaqen is quick to pull on another face, of a nondescript Braavosi youth. Sandor nods in appreciation.

"It's not my accent that makes you sick, it's the wine. This sort is very strong, and you haven't been drunk for quite a while."

"I have been worse before that."

The girls pay and leave the tavern. On the threshold, both of them abruptly halt, and their eyes shoot daggers at the men.

" _Sandor_! Have you been drinking? This horrible Volantene red the very smell of which gives me a headache, too! And I said today you're to make a good impression on Arya!"

" _Jaqen_! Have I told you I hate it when you change faces without warning? And where are your famous good manners? You didn't even wait to get introduced properly!" 

"There is one best thing about our beloved ladies," Jaqen announces, pulling on his Lorathi face back – after a few unsuccessful tries.

"Aye, there is," Sandor agrees, throwing away the half-full goblet (it shatters noisily, but no one of them notices). "Even when we're drunk as dogs, it's easy to tell one from the other."

"Sandor!.."

"Jaqen!.."

They look very much alike when they're angry, though. One can see that, despite everything, the Stark girls _are_ still sisters.

Well, and each of them has finally met her future good-brother, and that's what counts.

 


End file.
